The Things We Fear Most
by waikiki23
Summary: When a mission goes wrong, one member of the team takes it harder because his worst fear came true. Please R & R.


**Hi everyone! Sorry it has taken so long to write anything. I just moved into my new place and just got me a computer. So, this story had been almost finished before I moved, so here it is, complete. Thanks to Jennaya for being a great beta. Hope you all enjoy. Please read and review!**

The mission was supposed to be easy; get the film and get back to camp. It was supposed to be easy. They were less than a mile from camp and the patrol picked them up. They ran as fast as they could. But the patrol opened fire on them. He remembered hearing the gasp of pain and the muffled thud of his body hitting the ground. Thankfully the patrol ran past them.

_It wasn't supposed to be like this! He's not supposed to be dead!_ He held the limp form in his arms, the tears falling freely on the ground. As he cradled his friend, he rocked back and forth, the grief overpowering him. They were a couple hundred yards from camp. They had been so close. But they weren't close enough.

_He can't be gone. He just can't be! No, it's not true. _He felt the warmth of blood flooding over his hands and arms. The bullet that tore into his young body took away his life. He felt sick at the thought that maybe he suffered in the end. But he knew otherwise; he had been holding him for some time. He never woke up.

_I have to get him back to camp, I can't let him be found._ He picked the body up, cradling him gently. He then walked the remaining way to camp. As he neared, the tower lights swept too close to the tunnel entrance. He drew back long enough to let the light pass. He made it to the entrance, lifted the lid, then crawled down the ladder to the tunnel were bombarding him with questions; the words not making much sense. He really wasn't listening to them; all he wanted to do was to lay his friend down and then crawl into a corner and cry. Hands helped him lay the body down on a cot, then more hands pulled him away. He didn't see any more as his vision dimmed then went out completely as everything went dark.

* * *

"Hey, catch him! He's passed out!" Wilson yelled, noticing Newkirk sway, his eyes roll into the back of his head and his knees buckle as he passed out. Kinch and Olsen grabbed him, then gently laid him on another cot. They noticed that he was covered in blood; how much of it was his, if any, they weren't sure.

Wilson went back to checking the man in front of him. He had been shot clean through the heart. He tried to find a pulse, but couldn't. He knew he wouldn't. He bowed his head in defeat as a choked sob escaped him. He took a blanket and covered the young man in front of him completely from head to toe.

He turned his attention to his other patient. He checked Newkirk over, trying to find if the corporal had been injured. He finished, finding that Newkirk was okay, just unconscious.

"How is he?" a soft voice from his right asked. Wilson looked over to see Colonel Hogan standing next to him. The colonel was trying to hold himself erect, but failing miserably as the grief was taking him over. His head was bowed, not making eye contact with the medic. Wilson knew Hogan would take it hard; it was one of his men, killed outside of camp, and he hadn't been there.

"He'll be fine, he's not injured. I think the stress caused him to faint. He should take it easy for the next day or so," Wilson said, gathering the surplus supplies he had brought with him. He glanced over at the Senior POW. His head was still bowed, silent tears falling, sobs racking his body. Wilson, left the grieving colonel, giving him some privacy.

* * *

The first thing he became aware of was someone crying. _Whose crying and why?_ As the blackness receded, the reality of what had happened came crashing over him. He opened his eyes and he saw a sight he was not prepared for. His commanding officer, the one who was so in control, so strong, was standing next to him, almost doubled over. Hogan was crying uncontrollably.

Newkirk sat up, tears spilling out of his own eyes at the sight."Gov'nor?" he asked quietly. Hogan didn't respond. Newkirk swung his legs over the side of the cot, holding on the edge for a moment as he waited for the dizziness to leave him. He then slid off the cot and squatted in front of Hogan. "Gov'nor?" he asked again. The pain filled brown eyes that met his own green ones was enough to break his heart again. Hogan then stood, Newkirk following suit."How Newkirk? How did it happen?"

The silence that followed was almost deafening. Newkirk looked at Hogan then bowed his head. "We had the film and we were heading back. The Kraut patrol saw us and fired. He never had a chance sir. We were less than a mile from camp."

Hogan sighed deeply, then laid a hand on Newkirk's shoulder. The younger man looked up at his commanding officer. The tears were falling freely down both faces as Hogan said, "Peter, it's not your fault. You were so brave, bringing him back home. He deserved to have an honored burial. You did well Peter. Thank you for bringing him home."

Newkirk didn't say anything as he walked over to the sheet draped body. As he pulled the sheet back to reveal the still face, he said quietly, "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. We were so close to the camp. Colonel, he shouldn't have died, he shouldn't!"

"Newkirk, Andrew wouldn't you want you to beat yourself up. He knew you did your best."

When Newkirk didn't look up, Hogan turned and went to another part of the tunnel, leaving Newkirk with his friend.

"Andrew, I'm so sorry. I tried to protect you and I couldn't. What I feared the most came true. I lost you. I hope you forgive me. You were a great friend Andrew."

Newkirk replaced the sheet over his friend and turned.

_Goodbye Andrew, goodbye._


End file.
